


Three's Company (Three's a Crowd)

by Arbryna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Other, Sibling Incest, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a surprise visit home from the Circle, Bethany finds more than she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Oh, Maker."_

Bethany hesitates at the top of the stairs, eyes wide, as she hears—is that _Marian_? She's never heard her sister make those sounds before. And in the middle of the day, no less. What if Mother were home?

Of course, Marian probably knows what Bodahn told Bethany just moments ago: that Mother is out on her weekly visit with Gamlen, and won't be home for hours yet. 

Which makes it rather awkward for Bethany, as it turns out. She never expected to be given a day of reprieve from the Circle—she's still not sure how it came about, but she suspects it's got something to do with the constant power struggle between Meredith and Orsino. Or, considering the grandness of this estate, perhaps it's due to a well-placed bribe. 

Whatever the reason, she was ecstatic to find herself with a day of freedom. She couldn't run fast enough to the house that once again belongs to her family, eager to surprise her mother and sister with a visit. 

Only, it seems as though her sister already has a visitor. 

_"Oh! Oh, Maker,_ yes _!"_

A very _intimate_ visitor. 

Heat flushes Bethany's cheeks, spreads down her neck. It's embarrassment, it has to be—and the best way to alleviate it would be to turn around right now, to find some wing of the house that's far enough away to muffle the sound of her sister's cries. 

Instead, she finds her feet carrying her a bit closer—close enough now that she can see the sliver of light spilling out from the partially-cracked door to what she assumes is Marian's bedroom. No wonder she can hear Marian so clearly. 

_"Ngh, yes, yes, oh—_ Isabela _!"_

Bethany stifles a gasp, pressing her fingers to her lips. That it's Isabela doesn't surprise her—the pirate has always been quite clear about her sexual preferences (namely, to have it as often as possible). What startles Bethany, what makes her stomach twist in a way that's not entirely unpleasant, is that it's a woman her sister has taken to bed. 

It's not that Bethany judges her for it—that would be ironic, considering how her own heart used to flutter in response to Isabela's flirtations. No, it's more that…well, Bethany never knew Marian was interested in women that way. 

_"Oh, Maker, Isabela, that was incredible,"_ Marian sighs, her voice thick with satisfaction and fatigue. 

Isabela chuckles, low and sultry in a way that starts something throbbing between Bethany's legs. _"Oh, sweet thing, I'm not done with you yet."_

Footsteps approach the door; Bethany panics, darting into the corner next to the door, willing herself to be invisible. Her heart pounds in her throat. How will she explain this?

Thankfully, she doesn't have to. Rather than open the door, Isabela veers elsewhere in the room. When Bethany works up the nerve to peek through the crack in the door, she's rewarded with a flash of Isabela—naked, but for her jewelry and boots. Her hair is loose and wild, and Bethany swallows hard as an image pops into her head of Marian's fingers tangling in the dark locks. 

There's a pack on the floor by the bed, which is what's got Isabela's attention. Bethany watches as Isabela rummages through it, but she can't quite see what it is that Isabela finally pulls out. 

_"What is—_ oh _."_ The realization in Marian's voice is edged with wanton anticipation. 

Though Bethany can't see whatever it is, she can definitely hear the results. After a few moments, Marian starts to moan again, deep and guttural. Her voice is accompanied by wet, slick sounds, and Bethany can feel an answering wetness growing all too apparent beneath her own robes. She curls her hands into fists at her sides and presses her thighs together, as though she can will the ache to ease, but it only grows more intense. 

Meanwhile, Isabela's grunts have joined the illicit chorus, giving Bethany the image of both of them moving together somehow. The details don't matter; the idea is enough to make her bite down on her lower lip, to dart her eyes toward the balcony and staircase leading to the front hall. 

Bodahn had been on his way out when she arrived, something about taking Sandal shopping for ingredients for his enchantments. There's no one in the estate, no one to witness her dilemma except for the two very occupied women in the next room. If Bethany is quiet, she could—

No, that—that would be inappropriate. She can't just…just stand here and touch herself, while her sister and her friend pleasure each other not twenty feet away. 

Isabela lets out a sharp, surprised sort of sound, then a deep chuckle. _"Ooh, the Hawke has claws."_

Oh, Maker. Bethany swallows a whimper, imagining her sister's fingernails raking down the dark skin of Isabela's back. She can't decide which position she'd rather be in, and the confusion only serves to drive her arousal higher. 

Before she can over-think it, Bethany slips one hand between her legs, pressing hard against herself through her robes. The pleasure that surges through her at the contact is intense; her eyes slam shut, her head presses back into the wall, and for a moment she forgets about everything except for the sounds coming from the next room and her own hand rubbing tirelessly between her legs. 

She can't afford to lose herself in this, though. She has to be vigilant, has to keep control of herself, keep quiet—not to mention keep a firm grasp on her magic. 

It's too much—something is bound to break free, and as she gets nearer and nearer to release, Bethany can feel her hold on her magic slipping. Finally sparks pop behind her eyelids, pleasure sweeping over her entire body, and it's not until she hears the crackling of flames that Bethany realizes what she's done. 

It's a small patch of carpet, and the fire is easily doused with a quick blast of ice. Bethany's chest heaves with labored breath. Did they hear? Is she caught? Should she flee downstairs, or would her footsteps give her away nonetheless?

_"Is that smoke?"_

_"Hold tight, sweet thing, I'll check."_

Bethany's heart jumps into her throat, pounding frantically. Before she can decide what to do, the door swings open further and she's frozen in place by the sight of Isabela: Isabela's breasts, full and swaying, Isabela's eyes wide with surprise and delight, the straps around Isabela's hips that are holding a glistening phallus between her legs. 

Her mouth goes dry thinking of what's making it glisten. Maker, she's doomed.

"Well look who we have here," Isabela says, hiking an eyebrow and cocking her hip to the side. "Little sister, come for a visit." 

_"Bethany?!"_ Marian shrieks in the next room. She sounds mortified.

Isabela's gaze drifts to the charred spot of carpet, then back to Bethany's flushed, guilty face. A knowing smirk settles on her lips. "Enjoying the show, Sweetness?"

"I—I wasn't—" Bethany stammers, her face flushing deeper than she thought possible. "I didn't see anything." 

"Well that's a downright shame," Isabela responds with mischief in her eyes. "We'll have to do something about that." 

Isabela doesn't give Bethany time to decipher her meaning, reaching out to grab Bethany's hand—the one that was so recently between her legs, and Maker she didn't think she could _be_ more embarrassed. Her fingers are warm and sticky laced with Bethany's, making it all too clear where they've so recently been. 

"Isabela, what are you doing?" Marian hisses, holding the rumpled sheets to her chest to hide her nudity as Isabela pulls Bethany inside.

Not that it does any good. Bethany's mind helpfully fills in the blanks with details seared into her mind from growing up sharing a room. Though she's never seen that damp flush on Marian's cheeks, or the hot desire that has yet to fade completely from sea-blue eyes—and _damn it, Bethany, that's not helping._

"The more the merrier, I always say," Isabela says with a shrug and a grin, waggling her eyebrows. 

Marian's eyes widen even further, staunchly avoiding Bethany's own. "Not in this case!"

"Oh, come on, Hawke," Isabela urges. She releases Bethany's hand, only to slide her arm around Bethany's waist. Her breast is warm against Bethany's arm, with only the Circle robes separating them. "Look at the poor girl. Three years in the Circle, and she's probably _still_ a virgin."

"She's my _sister_!" Marian sputters.

"And didn't your mother ever teach you to share your toys?" Isabela replies. She turns to regard Bethany, and her teasing loses a bit of its edge. "Unless you'd rather leave, Sweetness." 

Bethany is frozen in place. She might have forgotten how to talk. At least, she can't quite seem to make her lips move, or make any kind of sound at all. The only thing she finds herself capable of doing is staring wide-eyed in the direction of the floor as Isabela waits for a response. 

"Don't pay Isabela any mind, Beth," Marian says shakily, pulling the sheet tighter to herself. She still won't look at Bethany. "You remember how incorrigible she is. I'm—I'm sorry you had to see this. I mean, we weren't expecting you, or it wouldn't—" she rubs at her face, sighs. "If you go down and wait in the study, I'll— _we'll_ get dressed and join you. To…talk. If you like."

It's an easy out—one Bethany knows she should take. So why can't she make her feet move? 

"I don't think she particularly wants to leave, Hawke," Isabela says, smirking. She squeezes Bethany's waist, nudges her with her hip. "Am I right?" 

With her eyes tilted down, Bethany can see how the phallus sways and bounces with Isabela's every movement. The gleam on it has dulled as Marian's arousal dries on the leather. Bethany wonders if the flavor remains; if she wrapped her lips around it, would she still taste the tang of it against her tongue? Or would she have to go to the source, to bury her face between her sister's thighs and—

Maker's breath, what a thing to think. She doesn't want _that_ …does she? 

"No," Bethany says, barely more than a whisper. She hears Isabela start to sigh, feels the hand at her waist start to fall away; she catches it without thinking, gripping it tight as she dares to look up—at Isabela, not at Marian, she can't look at Marian right now, can't bear to see her recoil in shock and disgust. "I mean, no, I don't want to leave."


	2. Chapter 2

Isabela's eyes gleam with victory, and no small amount of desire. The smug curve of her lips, full and swollen with Marian's kisses, twists something sharp in Bethany's stomach. Whatever she's just gotten herself into, she can't imagine turning back now.

"Bethany," Marian says, her voice strained. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," Bethany says quickly, turning to face Marian then looking down and blushing as her mind catches up with her words. She wants this, but she's not sure what _this_ is yet—she doesn't want to spoil it by saying the wrong thing. Swallowing thickly, she peeks up at her sister through her lashes. "Isabela is right. It's—it's not like I get a lot of opportunity in the Circle. And…I would rather my first time be with someone I care about. Someone I trust." 

"Aw, stop," Isabela teases, bumping her hip against Bethany's. "You're going to make me blush." 

Marian, meanwhile, looks almost guilty, clutching the sheets to her chest as she stares down at the bed. "I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't think about…would you like me to leave instead?" 

"Now where would the fun be in that?" Isabela scoffs, dragging her fingers up Bethany's side. Bethany shivers, half-tempted to close her eyes. If it feels this good to be touched through her robes, how much better will it be without them?

"Isabela, I think—"

"Balls, Hawke. You think way too much—that's your problem." Isabela's fingers trail along Bethany's lower back as she turns, raises her free hand to stroke along the line of Bethany's jaw. Their noses brush, and Isabela's breath puffs warm against Bethany's lips. With her forehead pressed to Bethany's, Isabela turns to look at Marian. "Besides, don't you want to stay, make sure I don't sully your sister's virtue with all of my wicked, wicked ways?" 

Bethany can hear a sharp intake of breath, as though Marian is set to say something else, but whatever it is doesn't come—or if it does, Bethany can't hear it. She can't hear anything beyond the pounding of her heart, beyond the gasp that gets swallowed up as Isabela's mouth descends on her own. 

Isabela's lips are soft, warm, enticing; Bethany doesn't want to stop, doesn't ever want to stop kissing Isabela. There's a musky smell still clinging to Isabela's cheeks, sharp and rich. Bethany whimpers as her mind fills with images of Isabela kneeling between Marian's legs, of her sister's head arching back into the mattress, firelight casting shadows over her sweat-slick skin. When Isabela's tongue probes at her lips, Bethany welcomes it hungrily. 

Unsure where else to put them, Bethany rests her hands on the outside of Isabela's arms. Muscles flex under her palms as Isabela tugs at her hips, pulling her closer and driving the phallus upward between their bodies. It presses hard into Bethany's belly, and she moans softly, digs her fingers gently into Isabela's flesh. 

The kiss goes on and on. Bethany gasps at the hands sliding back to cup her backside, the teeth tugging at her lip. Her own hands slide up to tangle in Isabela's hair, tugging with an urgency she can't name. 

"Mm," Isabela hums approvingly. Bethany can feel the delighted smirk pressing into her mouth before Isabela pulls away to trail searing kisses along her jaw. "Fast learner." 

"I—ah!" Bethany gasps, her fingers going slack as Isabela nibbles at a particularly sensitive bit of skin. She tightens them again, her nails scraping along Isabela's scalp as Isabela begins to suck there. Her voice shakes with nervous desire. "I have a good teacher. All those books you sent me…"

"Knew that was a good idea," Isabela mutters, grinning into Bethany's throat. 

And it was, oh it really was—except now she can't stop thinking of all those things she read about—all the things she thought about trying as she touched herself at night, alone in her cold Circle quarters. There have been so many things, and they can't possibly do all of them in the meager amount of time they have. 

Isabela's hands move again, slipping between them to drift up Bethany's waist. Her palms slide over Bethany's breasts, squeeze them teasingly before she starts to work at the laces of Bethany's robes. 

Maker, this is really happening. Bethany's legs feel unsteady, her head feels light and dizzy. She's thankful for Isabela's shoulders, smooth and solid and _right there_ , fitting to her palms as she braces herself. 

Something pricks at her conscience, though, as she remembers her sister sitting not ten feet away. If this truly makes Marian uncomfortable, they really should stop—at least long enough for Marian to leave. Bethany wants this, but not at the cost of what fragile relationship remains between her and her sister. 

When she glances over, though, Bethany finds so much more than discomfort. Marian's expression is conflicted, but her eyes are fixed on Bethany and Isabela as though she can't possibly tear them away. Her cheeks are flushed bright with desire, lips just barely parted to allow shallow breaths to pass, and when Bethany catches her gaze, the want in Marian's eyes sends a surge of arousal racing through her body. 

She might protest, but it's clear that Marian wants this to happen. 

The knowledge bolsters Bethany's confidence, and she reaches up to help Isabela with her robes. It's not necessary, not really—Isabela's clever fingers have already got the laces mostly undone—but at least she's doing something, at least she can speed this along by a few seconds, if nothing else. 

Bethany shivers as her robes are pushed back over her shoulders. The room isn't cold by any stretch of the imagination, but goosebumps pop up all along her skin nonetheless. 

No, it definitely isn't cold. Bethany feels entirely too hot, in fact, in her simple shift and smalls. Isabela's fingers curl in the fabric at her hips, dragging it up as she steers Bethany backward toward the bed. She stumbles as the back of her legs collide with the frame, but Isabela steadies her before pulling the shift over her head in one smooth movement. 

Behind her, Marian gasps—so quiet Bethany almost doesn't hear it, except to her it sounds as loud as anything. Arousal curls hot in the pit of her stomach, tightens her nipples and throbs between her legs as she listens to her sister's labored breathing. 

Warm hands settle on Bethany's bare waist, slide down to her hips and lift until Bethany is seated on the edge of the bed. Isabela ducks down then, making quick work of Bethany's boots and socks. Her fingers drag up Bethany's legs as she rises again, sending hot little jolts of pleasure through her skin. 

Leaning back on her hands, Bethany watches with hooded eyes as Isabela hones in on her last target: the scrap of fabric covering the very last bit of Bethany's modesty. Bethany surrenders it gladly, nibbling on her lower lip as Isabela tugs at the laces holding her smalls together. 

Then those too are gone, and Bethany's heart hammers against her ribs. Isabela straightens, leaning back to rake her eyes over what she's revealed, and Bethany's eyes fix on the phallus hanging between her legs. 

"Are—are you going to use that?" Bethany asks, breathy and uncertain.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" Isabela grins, waggling her eyebrows. She plants her hands on the mattress at Bethany's hips as she leans over, wedging herself between Bethany's legs so that the hard length teases fleetingly at the wetness there. "You'll need a bit of warming up before you can handle it."

"Oh," Bethany sighs, somewhere between disappointment and anticipation. 

Isabela's eyes flicker with mischief. "But look at poor Hawke, all the way over there," she laments with a smirk. "Can't have you feeling left out, sweet thing. Does big sister want to do the honors?" 

Bethany's eyes widen, and something clenches hot and urgent between her legs. She hasn't thought about it before—Isabela has been far safer fantasy material—but now that Isabela's suggested it, the thought of being touched by her sister, pleasured by her…for a moment Bethany forgets how to breathe.

She doesn't look back at Marian—can't bear to—but the answer is clear in Isabela's grumpy sigh, in the annoyed roll of amber eyes. 

"Fine," Isabela concedes, stepping back and unbuckling the straps at her hips. "You take this then, Hawke, and show me a good time while I get your sweet little sister ready for it." 

The bed shifts as Marian slips off of it, reluctantly giving up the cover of the sheets. At Isabela's instruction, Bethany shifts back against the headboard; she tries not to stare as Isabela helps with the straps and buckles, but she's transfixed. Marian is harder than she remembers, leaner; pale scars litter her skin, so many more than she had the last time Bethany saw her. For a moment her arousal is dampened by frustration, anger that she finds herself trapped in the Gallows doing nothing of note while her sister risks her life on a regular basis. It's as bad as before, when her family sacrificed everything to keep her safe and hidden—worse, because there's nothing she can do to fix it, no carefully placed anonymous tip to remove the problem. 

Then Isabela turns around and climbs onto the bed, crawling toward Bethany like a cat stalking its prey, and the arousal surges to the forefront again. Dark, sure hands slide over her knees, nudging them apart, and Bethany gasps as cool air meets her slick flesh. 

Isabela insinuates herself between Bethany's legs, leans over so that her full breasts slide hot over Bethany's stomach and chest. Bethany reaches to bury her fingers in Isabela's hair once more, tugging her in for another kiss. 

It's so much _more_ this time—pressed skin to skin, Isabela's tongue tangling with hers, Isabela's hips pressing down against her own in a way that's almost but not quite enough. Bethany whimpers and arches up against Isabela, needing something but not sure how to voice it. 

With a chuckle, Isabela pulls back to start kissing down Bethany's throat again—only this time there isn't a collar to stop her, no robes to restrict her exploration. She doesn't rush, but neither does she take her time; her mouth is hot and slick and demanding, sliding over Bethany's breasts, sucking at each nipple in turn. By the time she nips her way down Bethany's stomach, Bethany's eyes are shut, her fingers curled tight in the sheets. 

Sharp teeth scrape over her hipbone, and Bethany's eyes shoot open again as she gasps. Isabela is teasing her way down, her breath brushing hot against the damp curls between Bethany's legs; behind her, Marian is fumbling with the last of the straps, looking awkward and nervous. 

As if she can sense it, Isabela raises her head, smirking over her shoulder while she waves her hips impatiently. "Get a move on, Hawke. I'm not sure how much longer she can hold out." 

Bethany's cheeks flush hot, but she can't argue the point. She feels as though she might explode if she isn't touched— _really_ touched—soon. 

Somehow, Marian manages to completely avoid looking at Bethany as she climbs onto the bed. Her hands tremble as they settle on Isabela's hips, smoothing over the skin and kneading the firm flesh there. Bethany's throat feels tight, her mouth dry, as one of Marian's hands dips between Isabela's legs. 

Isabela hums her approval into the crease of Bethany's thigh, her tongue dragging around the edge of damp curls. Bethany's grip on the sheets tightens almost painfully as she watches her sister guide herself into Isabela, watches her push forward as Isabela's hips grind back. 

The hot drag of Isabela's tongue through her slick comes as a surprise of the best kind; Bethany's eyes slam shut again as she moans, her fingers relaxing from the shock of it only to curl into fists once more. She's imagined this, but even in her fantasies it never felt this good. 

It's fleeting, though, that first taste. Isabela pulls away all too soon, and Bethany's eyes drift open in protest. 

"Don't set anything on fire this time," Isabela instructs, catching Bethany's eye and smirking.

Bethany manages a weak nod, which seems to be enough for Isabela. Then that tongue is back, sliding firm and slick against her, and Bethany is lost. Her fingers grasp at the sheets, at Isabela's hair, at anything they can reach as Isabela sucks and nips and works that tongue over her. 

She can feel every thrust of Marian's hips driving Isabela into her, every grunt and moan that sounds in Isabela's throat vibrating against her own flesh. Even with her eyes closed, she can't forget that Marian is there too, that they are all doing this together, and it only makes her throb harder against Isabela's tongue. 

Somewhere in the haze of escalating desire, Bethany is aware of Isabela shuddering, stiffening between her legs, but the pause is brief; Isabela quickly continues her assault on Bethany's sex as Marian continues to thrust into her, through another pause and another, until Bethany is teetering on the edge of something more intense than she ever could have dreamed. 

Marian must stop then, because Isabela's mouth stays in one place, urging Bethany closer and closer to that precipice. Isabela's hands press down on Bethany's trembling thighs, thumbs teasing at her entrance as she redoubles her efforts. 

Release crashes over Bethany, into her, knocking her over that edge and into a feeling that surges through her entire body. She's not aware of crying out, too focused on keeping a firm grip on her magic, but her throat is hoarse when she finally regains enough consciousness to notice. 

Slowly, as her breath comes back to her, Bethany slides her eyes open. Isabela is looking up at her with a smug grin, mouth and chin glistening with Bethany's slick, but that's not what catches Bethany's attention. Farther back, with her hands resting heavily on Isabela's hips, Marian kneels, frozen; her eyes are locked on Bethany, burning with a hunger so blatant it makes Bethany shudder all over again. 

Isabela stirs between them, sighing as she pulls away from Marian and the phallus slides free. Bethany is so focused on her sister, on the heat in cool blue eyes, that she doesn't notice the grin on Isabela's face turn clever and knowing.

"Shit, have I been here that long?" Isabela sighs in what sounds like genuine disappointment. "Balls. I've got to run." 

Bethany follows Isabela's gaze to the window, to the light that's quickly fading from the sky. The sun was beginning to set when she arrived; it hasn't been that long, but of course she doesn't know how long ago Isabela got here.

"You—you're leaving?" Marian sputters, curling in on herself at the edge of the bed as Isabela slides to her feet. Bethany draws her knees up to her chest, affected by her sister's show of modesty.

"Sorry, sweet things, I've got an important business meeting." Isabela is pulling her clothes on before Bethany can even process what she's said.

"But—but what about…" Bethany trails off, unable to say the words. What she's already experienced has been amazing, but she didn't think it'd be over so soon—and without trying out the toy that rests slick between Marian's legs.

"Oh, I think you're in good hands," Isabela says with a knowing smirk. She tightens the laces of her corset, pulls her headscarf on, then turns to look at Marian. "You'll take good care of little Bethany, won't you?" 

She doesn't wait for a reply before slipping out the window.


	3. Chapter 3

The silence is heavy between them, thick with too many things—uncertainty, desire, a pulsing undercurrent of shame. Marian avoids Bethany's gaze, instead fixing her eyes on the rumpled pile of sheets between them. 

Though her body cries out against it, Bethany clears her throat, softly speaks. "Do you want me to leave?" 

Marian looks at her then, brow pulled tight. Her lips part as though to speak, but they can't seem to settle on a word, on an answer. Finally she swallows. "Do you want to leave?" 

Bethany's heart leaps into her throat, pounds there as she tries to feel out the right thing to say. It feels as though she's walking across a bridge that might collapse beneath her feet—but on the other side lies everything she's never dared to hope for. 

Drawing a shaky breath, she takes another step. "Isabela already asked me that question," she murmurs, trembling as she holds her sister's gaze. "My answer hasn't changed." 

Dark lashes flutter against pale cheeks still flushed with want. "Bethany…" 

Never before has her name felt so full of meaning. The labored rasp of it strikes at something deep inside Bethany; the tones of fear and uncertainty fill her with a sudden bravery as the pieces click into place. Marian wants this, but she doesn't think she should. 

"It's all right you know," Bethany says, slowly stretching out her legs in front of her. She doesn't need to hide from her sister. "I want you to." 

Something hot and wild flashes in Marian's eyes, and she's turning before she even seems to realize it. Her hand presses into the mattress, and Bethany's breath catches in her throat; she releases it with a sigh when Marian stops and sits back, eyes fixed on the bed once more. 

Gathering her courage, Bethany decides to bridge the distance herself. Marian is tense as Bethany shuffles across to kneel at her side. Bethany reaches to cup Marian's face, to guide their eyes together. 

"Beth," Marian whispers, looking pained even as she reaches up to hold Bethany's hand to her cheek. "Please." 

"Please what?" Bethany asks, her chest tightening and swelling at the same time. Her thumb strokes back and forth along Marian's face, barely brushing the side of her mouth. "Please stop? Or…"

Marian's eyes slide open, locking onto Bethany's mouth. "I shouldn't…"

Bethany can't help it; she leans in ever so slightly, drawn in by the soft tremble of Marian's chin, by the nervous flick of a pink tongue over full lips. She can feel Marian's breath against her own mouth. "Why not?" 

The breath that Marian draws is thick and labored. Her head shakes minutely back and forth as she lets out a soft chuckle. "I don't remember." 

It's all the permission Bethany needs to press that little bit closer, to feel the warmth of Marian's lips against her own. Marian whimpers and pushes back, reaching up to cradle the back of Bethany's head. 

This kiss is sweeter, more tentative than those Bethany shared with Isabela. She finds herself needing to take the lead, sucking encouragingly on Marian's lower lip and tugging at it gently with her teeth. Marian groans and opens her mouth to Bethany's tongue, slides her own against it, curls her hand in Bethany's hair.

Frustration rears its head before long, the awkwardness of their position becoming too much to ignore. Bethany pulls out of the kiss and reaches for Marian's hand, tugging until they're both lying on their sides against the pillows. 

They're close enough that Bethany can feel the phallus bumping against her thighs, and need clenches hot between her legs. "Sister," Bethany gasps. Marian flinches at the word, turns her eyes to the bed; Bethany tucks a hand under her sister's chin and corrects herself. "Marian. Please, I need—I want you." 

Something breaks in Marian's eyes, some last vestige of resistance. She surges forward, guiding Bethany onto her back as they kiss again. Marian's fingers trail up the outside of Bethany's arm, drift over her collarbone; her palm rests flat against the top of Bethany's chest, right over her heart, feeling how it beats erratically against her skin. 

She pulls away then, looking down in some explosive combination of awe and arousal as she cups Bethany's breast in her hand. Bethany can't help but arch up into it. 

"Maker," Marian whispers, her eyes drifting back up to meet her sister's. "You're beautiful." 

Warmth fills Bethany's chest, and she feels an ache begin that has nothing to do with the one between her legs. There are so many things that need to be said, that need to be sorted out.

Marian's brow tightens, her lips part to speak, but Bethany claims them before any sound can escape. They can talk later; right now all she wants to think about is being here, in this moment, and Maker take the bloody future. 

As the kiss grows more urgent, Bethany's own touch starts to wander. Her fingers drift down her sister's throat, feeling the pulse that beats rapidly beneath the skin; then lower, sliding over the curve of a shoulder and down until she can feel the gentle flexing of a bicep as Marian continues her slow exploration. 

Bethany gasps sharply as Marian's fingers brush over the curls between her legs. Marian pants into Bethany's lips as she dips her fingers lower to drag through the abundant wetness there. It's not like Isabela's tongue was—it's not like Isabela at all, really. It's a touch that, in its hesitant reverence, could only belong to her sister. Only to Marian, who has never failed to do everything in her power to protect Bethany, to make her happy. 

A finger slides down, teases slowly into her, and Bethany whimpers as her hips jerk up into the touch. She's heard that the first time is supposed to hurt, but when Marian's finger slips all the way in and crooks inside her, all she can think of is how badly she wants _more_. 

Gently, Marian slides out to add another finger. She sinks into Bethany, then draws out, beginning a slow rhythm as Bethany writhes beneath her. Bethany arches her head back into the pillow, pumps her hips in time with Marian's thrusts; it's too much, it's not enough, it's _everything_. 

And then it's gone. Bethany peeks up through half-lidded eyes as Marian brings her fingers to her lips, flicks out her tongue to taste them. A groan catches in Bethany's throat, and she reaches for that hand, pulls it to her own mouth. The flavor isn't new to her—after reading enough of Isabela's books, she simply had to find out for herself—but the look on Marian's face, the arousal flashing hot in those familiar blue eyes—that's new. 

Marian reclaims her hand, uses it to brace herself as she moves to kneel between Bethany's legs. Bethany can feel herself clenching in anticipation, watching Marian take the phallus in hand and guide it toward her entrance. 

The first press of it is intense, almost overwhelming. Marian is frustratingly slow and careful entering her, giving her ample time to adjust to the hard thickness of it. When it's in as far as it can go, Marian leans over until they're face to face; her breasts crush against Bethany's, her lips pull urgently at Bethany's own. 

Bethany can only whimper and bury her hands once more in her sister's short, messy hair; when she's adjusted to the intrusion, her hips move of their own volition, jerking hard to urge Marian into action. 

Then Marian is thrusting into her, starting slow and building to a rhythm that has Bethany moaning and whimpering incomprehensibly as she tugs at Marian's hair, as she hooks her heels behind Marian's thighs and _pulls_. Whether it's the phallus, or fact that it's Marian guiding it, or any number of things, Bethany doesn't know; all she knows is that it feels more intense, more incredible, than anything she's ever felt. 

But it's not _enough_. Her moans take on a frustrated edge as she works her hips faster, trying desperately to reach that place she got to before. She can feel it, just out of reach, hovering; she feels a little bit guilty, a little bit self-conscious when Marian slows her thrusts, looks down at her with a concerned look that soon fades into understanding. 

"Touch yourself," Marian pants, keeping her thrusts slow and shallow. When Bethany's brow tightens, Marian smiles reassuringly. "It's all right, Beth. I have a hard time too, getting there with just this. Trust me." 

She pushes in deep then, and Bethany cries out at the pleasure and the need burning low in her belly. Tentatively, she untangles her fingers from Marian's hair, slips her hand between their bodies to brush over her own curls. 

This is one thing Bethany is well-versed in; all those nights alone in the Gallows have provided her with that, at the very least. With Marian still pumping into her, though, her own touch feels brand new—every stroke of her fingers intensified by the building pressure inside of her. 

It doesn't take long after that, with Marian thrusting and Bethany rubbing practiced circles into herself. Her throat contracts around a long, loud groan as she clenches around the phallus inside of her, as her back arches off of the bed and she shudders with each pulsing wave of pleasure. 

When she comes back to herself and opens her eyes, Marian is looking down at her with that same look of awe, this time shaded heavily with need. Of course—this whole time Marian has been focused on Bethany's pleasure, and not her own. Bethany reaches up with her free hand to pull Marian into a kiss as she shifts her other hand between them, slides her fingers behind the base of the phallus to rub at her sister's slick flesh. 

Marian moans, jerks her hips, and Bethany gasps as the phallus moves inside of her. It's not enough to completely rekindle her desire, but it feels deliciously wanton; every shift of Marian's hips sends shivers of aftershocks racing under Bethany's skin. 

She doesn't tease, doesn't draw it out; Marian has been patient enough, and Bethany is all too eager to see her sister come apart under her touch. the reward comes soon enough as Marian's features contort, as her arms shake with the effort to hold her up. When it seems as though Marian's elbows may buckle, Bethany reaches up with both hands to guide her down, savoring the solid press of her sister's body on top of her own. 

Finally Marian rolls onto her side, leaving Bethany with a cold empty feeling between her legs as the phallus slides free. Bethany pays it no mind, focusing instead on brushing the hair out of her sister's eyes. 

"Beth," Marian breathes, grabbing Bethany's hand and pressing a kiss to the palm. "That was…"

"Incredible," Bethany finishes, a sated smile pulling at her lips. 

"Yes." Marian chuckles, then sobers. A shadow passes through her eyes. "But—"

"Don't," Bethany pleads. "I have to go back to the Gallows in the morning. We can fret over it all then." 

Though Marian nods, her expression is more troubled than before. "I never asked how you're even here. The Gallows isn't known for letting its mages wander the city."

Bethany nudges Marian onto her back, rests her head on her sister's shoulder. Marian's arm comes up to hold her close, and she slings her own arm over Marian's stomach. They used to cuddle like this all the time before, albeit with clothes on, and it fills her with a familiar feeling of safety. 

"I'm not sure myself," Bethany admits. "I suspect it's one of Orsino's attempts to demonstrate that mages can be trusted."

Marian squeezes Bethany's shoulders. "You must be quite the star pupil, to be chosen for such an experiment."

Guilt pricks at Bethany's chest. She knows exactly why Orsino would trust her not to run. Why would she, when she was the one who turned herself in? She's never regretted it, either—until now. "I suppose. I think I'm just the only mage there who doesn't complain about it." 

"I'm glad," Marian says, her voice growing thick and strained. She swallows, her throat bobbing against the top of Bethany's head. "That you're happy there." 

"I'd be happier here," Bethany admits. _Now more than ever_. "But I feel better knowing that you and Mother won't be punished for hiding me." 

"I would suffer far more than the templars' wrath if it meant keeping you safe." Marian's arm tightens around Bethany as she presses a kiss into her forehead. Her voice drops to almost a whisper. "I love you, Beth." 

The words hold more weight than they ever have before, and Bethany smiles as she's suffused with warmth. "I love you too." 

Marian sighs deeply, her chest rising and falling under Bethany's cheek. "As much as I hate to say it, we ought to get cleaned up and dressed before Mother gets back from Gamlen's."

"Not yet," Bethany says, tightening her arm possessively over Marian's stomach. She tilts her head up, presses a kiss to her sister's jaw. "I just want to stay like this a little while longer."

Another sigh, this one an all too familiar sign of defeat. With her free arm, Marian pulls a sheet up over them both, tucking it up over Bethany's shoulders. "If it were up to me," she murmurs, "I'd never let you go." 

Just for now, Bethany decides, she'll pretend that everything really is that simple.


End file.
